


Cheetos

by QueenOfTheWesternSky



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 01:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfTheWesternSky/pseuds/QueenOfTheWesternSky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All John wants is to get up and have a breakfast of something that isn't Cheetos, but of course, Dave is not a morning person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheetos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [enviousMonstrum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enviousMonstrum/gifts).



Wherever John had woken up, it was really goddamn hot. In the bad muggy kind of way. Though even with the hellish heat, he couldn’t say he really had a problem with the warm body laying next to him, with their arm slung across his chest, face buried in the pillows to the point where all John could see was a mess of blonde hair. He squirmed around a bit, getting onto his side (Quickly finding that when Dave said it might hurt, he meant that there would be horrible pains up the base of his spine every goddamn time he moved) and curled up into the sleeping form next to him.

The form in question groaned a little bit into the pillow and in turn, shifted around to accommodate John. If there was one thing John had learned since his arrival it was that Dave Strider was not under any circumstances, a morning person. That and all Strider’s live off Cheetos. The latter was still a source of great confusion for him (He’d eaten more Cheetos in the past week than in the last ten years). He didn’t bother trying to wake Dave. It just wouldn’t happen. And now he’d gotten himself trapped. Neither of them were likely to go anywhere until noon at least.

But John was hungry. And the only thing in reach was a bag of Cheetos. And John was pretty goddamn sick of freaking Cheetos. So he did the only logical thing: He poked Dave.

“Dave.”

“Ngn.” With that he only seemed to be burying himself further into the pillow.

“Dave.”

He didn’t even get a response that time.

“Dave Strider!”

“Whaaaaat?” He mumbled, still not bothering to move his face from the pillow, which in turn muffled the sound. 

“Breakfast.”

“No.”

“Dave.”

“No. Sleep. Breakfast later.”

“But I’m hungry now!”

“There’s Cheetos by the bed, knock yourself out.” And to that, John only groaned. After this trip, he was never eating a goddamn Cheeto again. And he certainly wasn’t having them for breakfast (Especially not for the third day in a row). He was getting a proper damn breakfast even if it killed him. Which at this rate, it probably would.

So he set to work squirming his way out of Dave’s grip and towards freedom. Naturally, that didn’t go over to well and within three second’s flat, John found himself tossed to the other side of the bed, trapped in an even more vice like grip between his boyfriend and a concrete wall. “Breakfast later. Sleep now.”

John’s entire plan of not giving in and actually getting some decent food that wasn’t bad cheese flavoured snack food, basically fell to pieces when Dave, bedhead and all, nuzzled quite contently into the crook of his neck, one of his legs tangling with John’s under the covers.

Alright. That plan failed. Operation sleep until noon was a go.

“Fine. You win. But we’re having breakfast eventually.”

“Cheetos.”

“You’re the most ridiculous person I have ever met.”

“Weren’t saying that last night…” He muttered, shifting his head a bit which in turn tickled John’s cheek with a particular lock of hair that was sticking up even more ridiculously than the others. 

He was pretty glad the blonde was still hella out of it, because John was pretty sure his face was red. Like tomato, colour of fire type red. “Shut it, Strider.” That only got him snickered at. 

“You weren’t saying that last night either.”

“Just shut the fuck up and sleep.”

“Yessir.” True to his word, Dave did quiet down and John rested his head atop the others, eyes shut, breathing in the ridiculous smell of his hair (Because what else would it smell like but goddamn Cheetos? Did he bathe in them or something?) and despite the dull ache at the base of his spine, life was pretty fucking good.

And he was not having Cheetos ever again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey look it's a terrible one shot I wrote for my best friend.


End file.
